Murder and Hubris in San Andreas
by StandardHeretic
Summary: Carl escaped the pressures of life in Los Santos, San Andreas to a new life in Liberty City. That was 5 years ago now Carl's mother been murdered and Carl 'CJ' Johnson must return home to confront his past, and seek revenge.PLZ REVIEW
1. Prologue

MURDER AND HUBRIS IN SAN ANDREAS 

A chill went up my spine as I hear my M4 bash against the ground, the metal cracking against metal floor echoes throughout a room filled with death. Sweat and blood crawling down my skin dancing together.

My eyes turn upward as I stare into the barrel of a Nine millimetre.

All the things in this world and I have to stare at a piece of shit gun.

My lips manage to open, my tongue curling to form what could be my last words.

"You ain't leaving here alive, man." All I can see of the world was the ugly orange of the sunset as it coats the fourth floor of the palace in a sickly bile colour.

And of course the generic police uniform and the fucker's face.

And the blood and corpses stained across the walls and floor.

"Where's your brother at, huh?" He said that arrogant tone, punk ass bitch.

"Why you just didn't shoot me in the back? Feeling exposed, huh?"

This wasn't the first gun I had stuck to my face.


	2. Liberty Be Thy Name

**CHAPTER ONE**

**LIBERTY BE THY NAME**

Sirens blared out echoing through the dirt encrusted alleys.

The smell of weed and poverty lingered in the dark corridors.

Neon lights darted between the dents in the poorly built cars.

Rust encrusted and belching smoke into the lungs of anonymous low standards.

Coated in darkness or coated in nothing at all as they stood on street corners, g-strings tight enough to break the skin, blessed with diseased and drug induced bodies. Real world stereotypes.

Their shadows stained down their faces they became demons in the night and it wasn't much different in the day. The only change was the lack of subtlety when the sun showed it's unwelcome face.

Gang colours dyed in the same darkness and the wars raged beyond belief.

Liberty City, it devours the soul and beats the body with aluminium bats.

Liberty City, USA

1992

"CJ!" My eyes darted open as the Bartender yelled across the room. My vision trying to focus in a drunken stupor. His blue eyes smeared across the room.

"What!" I yelled back, my speech slurred.

"We're closing, try to find the door." He poured himself a drink.

"Fo' sho." My arms pushed down on the bar, trying to stabilise my legs. They weren't Jell-O yet.

Just worn out, I had spent the entire night running from pigs and punks. My clothes sticking to my skin, that disgusting feeling of stale sweat.

My sight was good enough to see the exit even in the mist of red lights and shining glasses, lacquer floors blurring my self-image.

My shoulder bashing against the door as I stepped out onto the street. My basic memory skills would lead me back home. I began to walk with stiff aching legs.

But I didn't get far. "Hey dickweed!" Chinese accent. Goddamn Triad!

I slowly turned round to have my eyes absorbed in black bandannas and tattoos. Three Triad.

"Carl Johnson! You got a lot of guts showing your nigger face here!"

This was Bei-Tai-Man, we had a history.

"Go fuck yo' self Tai-Man, I ain't in the mood." Gettin' right in his hostile face. My hand itching to grab my gun. "Watch yourself CJ!" His bitches pulling pipes and chains. "Or we'll fuck you up."

My hand charged into my coat grabbing at my pistol. Shit, wasn't there.

A Metal pipe bashed against my head the world burst into a flurry of bright lights.

A fist pounded into my stomach, I felt like puking.

Now I was drunk and legless. Iron chain slapped across my mouth, not that I could really tell at the time. Too much dizziness and pain to even focus here. Taste of blood and boot.

At least the booze softened the blows.

Must've been a while before the blast of a gun sounded off, the pain stopped but I wasn't dead.

A blue blur hit the ground next to me spewing red fuzz. Muffled sounds yelling at me.

A hand clutched against my shoulder. The world settled down. And I regained my senses.

"CJ you okay?" Staring down I saw a pair of five hundred dollar black shoes from Victim.

Salvation, Leone. I was lifted back to my cheap black sneaks, painful and relieving.

"Carl you look like shit!" Luigi Goterelli, that skinny little runt who was always paying visits to my Boss, Joey. I had met him once or twice when I was looking for work.

"Luigi…" I grunted as pain replaced my muscles. I fell up against a wall staring up at the neon sky.

"Fuckin' monkeys don't deserve to live in society!" He said shaking his gun at the Triad corpse as it twitched.

"I'll be fine." I struggled between my teeth.

"If you're sure but be careful, this place is a breeding ground for rats."

"Fo' sho'."

"I'll put some of the boys on alert. We don't need our guys getting beaten off the battlefield.

"Everywheres the battlefield Luigi." I regained myself and limped back on my way home.

Luigi didn't say anything, just stared down at his kill as I moved the pain down the long streets.

The surviving triads were long gone so I had an easy way the rest of the route.

No one pays attention to a beaten and bloody man in this city. Everyone has his or her scars.

Apartment F-I, they give the shitty basement apartments letters instead of numbers

The poorly lit cramped grey hallway was a masterpiece compared to the apartment itself.

POS, the cheap door almost shattered as I pushed it open. I wonder who designed these apartments.

_Hey, let's not paint the rooms at all!_

_Yeah, and we should use a poorly made, shit coloured wood!_

_Sounds good to me bring in the crew!_

Count the shells, one shitty thirty-dollar bed, and one shitty bathroom with one shitty toilet.

Count no TV and the clothes left in the shitty kitchen with the shitty table with enough room to fit my shitty cereal. Mould and dirt in every crack and crevice, spiders and roaches were making nice little lives for themselves. Without the energy to hate this place even more I collapsed on the shitty bed.

No dreams.

My eyes shot open again, euphoria of the sober, waking world. My body was in hell but at least my mind was clear. The shitty telephone was blasting out throughout the apartment.

When you've just awakened to the sound of a telephone you have to answer it. Just to shut it up.

My muscles pulsed in pain but I had to shut up the phone, my senses still dizzy as I stumbled to the shitty kitchen. My bloody shaking hand clutched the unwanted alarm. Slamming it against my ear.

"'Sup?" My voice had returned.

"Carl, it's Sweet." Ah, shit! My bro.

"Whassup Sweet, what you want?"

"It's Momma…she's dead bro."


End file.
